A friend’s comment spoke volumes to me, so I wanted to devote a post on the idea.
“The key to spiritual growth is otium sanctum, so hard to trust in our world that values efficiency and quick results.” -Doug Jackson (Excerpt of his comment on the previous post.)
Now the Fathers of the Church well understood the importance of a certain “holy leisure” [or] “otium sanctum.” We cannot give ourselves to spiritual things if we are always swept off our feet by a multitude of external activities. Business is not the supreme virtue, and sanctity is not measured by the amount of work we accomplish. Perfection is found in the purity of our love for God, and there is plenty of time for it to mature.
Otium Sanctum is part of the not doing– It’s the “hard work” of that. The notion is paradoxical certainly, but bluntly revelatory.
How do you “not do” in your life, or for God which brings you to greater maturity?
Do you think God does or does not function with otium sanctum?
I couldn’t swim until I was 11 years old, and even then, it was a pretty panicky endeavor.
Today I taught both of my kids (ages 7.5 and 10) how to swim in about 3 hours.
Both were super afraid of being in the deep section when we started. Because they trusted me; it worked. I gave them pushes to the side, and skill tips, and once the fear was nearly gone, they could do it.
Much has to do with trusting that one is fairly buoyant in the water. Thrashing is not helpful, tense muscles tend to sink. For my son, who was quite scared, I told swim, “swim gently.” Something clicked. He saw/experienced that when taking his time, he could maneuver and stay afloat. The terror of sinking like a rock eased away. He probably jumped in the deep end to swim about 150 times after that.
For my daughter, distracting her with techniques, like a flutter kick and slicing arms through the water, distracted her from her over-thinking. The paralyzing fright of trying something new and “dangerous” settled out, and made way for real progress. I would hold her under her belly, to qualm her fears, and then I’d take her into deeper water so she wouldn’t stunt her learning by cutting it short: standing up each time she wasn’t sure of things, or when she felt scared–which, at the start, was about every 4 seconds. Once she saw how far she could go, by obeying my instructions, she realized she was ALREADY swimming. Then the fear (well, more the 50% of it) subsided. She got far more comfortable in the water.
It’s like that in life too, isn’t it. Much of what we think is beyond us, or too scary is part of how we’ve let our fears and false notions get in the way. We all must learn to float and not fight as God teaches us how to manage deeper water. Otherwise we are trapped in the kiddie pool.
How old were you when you learned to swim? Or do you have Aquaphobia a.k.a fear of water?
In what ways, to you, is the art and skill of swimming related to growth, or your own personal journey?
Any other thoughts?
P.S.
I’m looking for a pop up camper… keep your eyes peeled.
Spirituality/theology AND humor ≠ peanut butter and jelly?
Peas and carrots?
or More like jelly and mayo?
Or hair and cheesesteak?
Are people who study God (theologians) humorous as much as they are serious?
In my case, yes.
But does that gel? I’m talking like jell-o giggler, gel? Really nicely, with fun and good flavor, and joint protection.
Okay, I’m not paid to teach theology, not yet anyway, so I’m not a pro. Several hundred hours of study should count for something though.
But, I’ve noticed something: If someone tends to take their studies seriously, and their profession seriously, sometimes they lose their sense of humor. It’s not that they can’t be witty on occasion. But I’ve noticed the “humor” can be more sarcastic than uproarious. Theology can be rather dry… but not as in dry humor.
It’s beginning to bother me some, because of the sense that one “has to” pick one way or the other.
• Either you get your respect and admiration seriously honing your forte and thoughts of God, or you pick some sort of madcap way and get sort of dismissed as a lightweight.
Well, rubbish to that.
It shouldn’t be so.
It is a genius blend to be genuinely comical and also thoroughly studied on the important matters of living in this world with a firm consideration of the Divine as the center of it.
It might look like I’m putting it in my mouth, but I have to put my foot in both camps.
So, I’m putting my readers on notice. (Don’t think: Wittenberg Door “notice”. Think: dry erase board.) As anyone knows, straddling can lead to a good hard thwack in the center. I realize this is RISKY. Those of you that know me personally realize this co-mingled vantage point is from where I operate. Some of you may just…not “get it”.
Stay with me here.
I’m not sure where we got the idea that spirituality must be flaky or humorless. Sobriety is one thing, but cheerless? Parish the thought.
If you are new here, welcome. I invite you to what is an engaging game of Twister®, if you will. Here I will not kowtow to stern conventions of how we must study and know God, and our selves, as spiritual creatures. And no, I’m not a witch. Don’t be so stocked, or “freaked” in any way. (Plus, I weigh more than a duck…)
Isn’t God young? It is us who have gotten old and crotchety. Severe or joyless. Being truly alive doesn’t look much like that.
What do you think…?
Have you lost your sense of humor?
Do you find it doesn’t mesh with diligently following God or knowing him well?
Are worship/awe and fun mutually exclusive within spirituality?
Yes, I pretended to be Evel on my bike minus the crashes. A sense of adventure is an enviable quality, although sometimes a compromised frontal brain lobe can complicate the situations with very bad lapses in judgment.
I found this “15 things you didn’t know about Evel Knievel poster design.” Despite the thrills, his life was tragic and sad. That being said, there’s something I love about him. Maybe, in the end, it’s more about the cape and jumpsuit.
